


The Fear of Forgetting

by cranesmuir_witch



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Faith Lives, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-07-12 19:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7119097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranesmuir_witch/pseuds/cranesmuir_witch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different take on the "Faith lives" AU, set several years after Culloden. A story focusing on the little girl we all wish had lived and what would have happened if she did. As a parent who has lost a child I often wonder what they would be like and how our family would be different. Here's my take on that question with a little bit of a twist. A huge thank you to westerhos who is one amazing beta as well as all around awesome person!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bhioba - bib  
> Stad - cease, desist, halt  
> snàgan - and infant who is not yet crawling  
> gorm - blue

Faith sat at the kitchen table, swinging her feet, as she pushed her parritch back and forth mindlessly, struggling to figure out the answer to a question that had been on her mind. She had come to the conclusion more than once that she needed to ask one of her parents -- but which one? Her Da knew everything about animals, farming, and how to be a proper Laird, but Mam was the healer for Lallybroch and all its tenants. She would know the answer, surely. The usual daybreak noise and talk continued on around her as she continued to think. The warm fire crackling, Aunt Jenny talking to Mrs. Crook about the long daily list of things they needed to complete, her cousins arguing about whose turn it was to muck the stables. 

She sighed loudly, then began spooning the warm mixture into her mouth, missing more than once. She was far too busy with her worriment to pay much attention to politeness. A small dollop fell back into the bowl with a loud splat, some landing on the bodice of her shift. The unexpected sensation startled her to abandon her deliberations and focus to her meal momentarily. After several more misses than hits, her mother glanced over to observe that a bounteous amount had be spread to various other surfaces instead of the girl’s intended destination of her mouth. 

With a few swift steps, Claire was standing behind her daughter and tying a cloth around Faith’s neck in the hope of trying to save the garment any more abuse. Not surprisingly, a protest against the gesture was launched immediately.

“A _bhioba_? _Stad_ , Mam! I’m no’ a bairn!” Faith argued. The offending object was quickly removed and thrown with extreme malice, the spoon and partially filled bowl soon followed. An arch of parritch formed as it vaulted through the air, splashing on both mother and child. It only took a few seconds for the small legs to find their footing to launch the now regretful Faith towards the nearest doorway, then quickly up to her bedroom, just a few steps ahead of parental retribution. Claire Fraser, however, was just fast enough to catch an arm before her daughter reached the outskirts of the kitchen. 

“Young miss, you're not escaping before you explain to me what just happened.” Claire said in between panting. “I was trying to help you then I was yelled at, then drenched me in your breakfast. Why is that?”

A swift reply came after several hiccups mixed with a loud sniffle -not that it could be heard- the weeping face was now buried deep in her mother’s stay. The pair stayed in a close embrace for a few minutes until the tears subsided to a trickle.

“I'm no’ a _snàgan_ ennamore, Mam.” Faith whispered.”Da kens. Why do ye ha’ to treat me like one?I ken I canna do everything I wan’, but I try, Mam. I swear to ye I do!”

Claire gently carded her fingers through her daughter’s thick knotted hair, carefully working through the tangle of curls. The difficult task of fostering independence while protecting the safety of her children was a balance that she strove for daily, but was evidently struggling more than she had realized. Failing to accomplish something herself borderlined on the physically painful, but watching her firstborn fall flat? Complete mental purgatory. The mere suggestion made her question their hard won parenting skills as well as the multitude of other choices she and Jamie had made together over the last decade. Her oldest child had been medically fragile from the moment she made her premature entry into the world. As a first time mother, Claire was very much out of her depth, to say the least. She could recall her medical training when need be, but the confident maternal aspect was something she had to discover with Jamie’s assistance. The fact that the recollection of her late mother had faded when she was quite young had made her second guess herself for longer than she cared to remember. 

By God’s grace, Faith had surprised everyone by thriving once they were able to return to Lallybroch, surrounded by loving family. The first year and a half had flown by staggeringly fast despite all the political upheaval along with the young family spending some time separated. Emotional hurdles aside, the extended Fraser family was able to rally together when the announcement was made that they were expecting yet another addition to the clan. As understandably concerned as she had been about another birth, when Faith had started to shown signs of illness, there was a unshakable gnawing in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t subside no matter what Jenny said to reassure her. Claire’s nursing instincts kicked in the moment the fever started, quarantining herself with the listless child. A few sleepless nights later, it soon became apparent that the toddler was fighting smallpox.

“I know you do, love.” Claire soothed. “You are most assuredly not a baby, in any way, shape or form. It seems that I need to learn to ask if you need help, now don’t I?”

Faith nodded vigorously in agreement as her mother sustained the gentle touches to the young girl’s back. The situation had diffused enough for her choose better words to clarify her earlier actions. “Aye, ye do.” she acknowledged with a small smile. “I mus’ ask forgiveness for letting my anger get the better of me, though. That wasna any fault of yours. I need to learn to use my knowledge afore my feet.”

“I think you inherited your fiery disposition from your father,” Claire retorted, “You come by it honestly. And of course you're forgiven, I love you.”

It was almost impossible to stay angry for very long with her daughter as she was the embodiment of her much loved father. They both had short tempers, felt their emotions deeply, and neither would suffer fools gladly. The pair also had considerable difficulty in asking for assistance, no matter how the odds were stacked against them.

“I do need yer help with a wee question I ha’, Mam. I forgit something.” Faith squeaked. “An’ it’s makin’ my heed itch.”

Claire blinked a few times in disbelief before remarking. “Certainly! What question did you have?”

Faith had been close to death from the smallpox, fading in and out of consciousness. When it would finally take her from them was unquestionably the single thought that terrorized their thoughts for weeks as they watched the little girl begin to hemorrhage. Her parents did what little they could to try to ease the suffering, doing their utmost to keep the world around her as normal as possible. Claire told her stories about the world beyond the Scottish Highlands - elephants, Pharaoh's tombs, whatever she could recall as a fond memory with Uncle Lamb. The diversion certainly pushed the pain down a little further to make it more manageable. After a particularly long stretch of days, it appeared that things were turning a positive corner when the fever left her body. The joyful discovery faded quickly when she opened her eyes. The former nurse saw the cloudy whiteness covering them and realized that the disease had taken its toll on their child and she had been left blind. She would live, but now they had a whole new set concerns. A new baby on the way, along with the staggering responsibility of teaching Faith how to adapt was their new overwhelming reality.

“I canna remember _gorm_.” Faith declared. “I need ye t’ show me what blue looks like.”

Her parents knew the time would come when she realized she was different, needing resolution, that some would be difficult, some simple in nature but challenging to answer. There would be occasions that would necessitate reassurances that her life was just as valid. They would steadfastly support her with her choices to become the flourishing adult they could see in her. At first, Jamie was the one hit hardest with the news that their much wanted and prayed for baby could never see the beauty of the expanse of land he cherished and had fought for. His dreams of her being a healer alongside her mother were put away and replaced by heavy weighted guilt and worry. His mind was opened wide again months later when he saw her navigating unassisted from their rooms, down the stairs, and out the front door to find her cousins at play. The more attentive he was, the more he realized that she was just like other children her age -- she just had to approach things in her own manner. Soon after this epiphany, she became his shadow as he shared his knowledge as they went about their day. As the years went by, the like-minded pair’s bond deepened greatly. The fear of forgetting came up as she got older as fading memories of her short experience with sight began to frustrate her. He did his best to assuage them but felt overwhelmingly unqualified. As with anything that mattered, he consulted his wife. It wasn’t going to an easy venture but their doted on offspring was well worth the effort. 

Claire began to smile as she took her daughter’s hand, “Your father told me you might want to talk. First, let's clean up this chaos. Next we’ll get you ready for the day. I think by then we’ll be refreshed and ready to cipher the mystery of the color blue.”


	2. Chapter 2

The task of cleaning the mess completed downstairs, it was time to get the once derailed morning underway. A very focused Faith stood facing her open armoire in a clean shift rhythmically tapping her feet on the wooden floor. She ran her hands over the folded fabrics, concentrating on selecting the right one. Her deft fingers searched the necklines for the stitched letters her mother and aunt had meticulously sewn into them to spell out the color for her. The texture of the cloth was also an invaluable clue to her - if it was smooth, light, and delicate it was silk, good for Lallybroch’s formal occasions. Prickly, rough, and weighted meant wool - her beloved forbidden Fraser arisaid with stag brooch that kept out the cold, or her favorite autumnal skirt with rose applique. What she needed now, though, was one of her simple linen dresses, an apron, as well as her shawl for the busy day ahead. The one marked blue would be the right choice, she surmised considering what lay before her. Mam had promised, after their earlier argument, to take some time out of her schedule for a long overdue discussion. 

Of course chores needed to be done first before any of that could happen since there was a farm to be run and tenants to be taken care of. The whole family had their own area of responsibility from her father down to her Aunt Jenny’s youngest who fed the chickens and gathered their eggs. It had been her task a few years back, but now that she was almost a young lady she and her sister were charged with the feeding and care of the other barn animals. Her train of memories sparked something she had said, but forgotten -- she needed to milk the cows first. She had told Mrs. Crook she would help her churn butter in preparation for the family dinner the following night. If she were going to convince her mam she was growing up she knew she had to keep her obligations. She groaned as she struggled to pull her dress on, then grabbed her shawl as she headed to the stairs. 

“Brianna!” Faith called as she ran. “Ye ken we need t’ be milkin’ the coos, s’ quit hidin’ in Da’s study. And bring me th’ boots yer tryin’ t’ hide. Yer a pitiful sneak _piuthrag_!” A slowly building giggle echoed through the second floor and down to the first, the younger girl confirming her hiding place. “If th’ chores ‘r unfinished at midday, Da will no’ be pleased with us.”

“And I won’t be terribly happy either!” declared their mother, at the base of the stairs. “So, if the both of you are not out in the barn in about two minutes I’m going to set your Aunt Jenny on you!” 

Bree quickly scrambled from her hiding place, clumsily stomping as she went. As she began to overtake her sister she stopped to help her put her own boots on. Faith audibly protested but her sister stood firm by replying additionally with her own demurring sound. Only two years apart, they were very close and often communicated with subtle touches or sounds. In some ways they were more like twins since Faith had to relearn how to do all the things Brianna was just learning as an infant. They trusted each other implicitly but then also argue loud enough to raise the rafters even while protecting each other. Claire and Jamie fostered their steadfastness, knowing that after they were gone their children would be there to take over as caretaker to each other. 

“Faith, why do ye always fight me?” Bree hissed. “I jus’ wan’ to get back to readin’ a book Da is helpin’ me with. French is no’ so easy for me to ken, like it is for ye.” 

Faith laughed as they linked hands, walking the last of the stairs and out of the house. Languages were easy for her to understand, easy for her to speak, but reading them was another dilemma altogether. After many failed attempts, her parents sewed letters the local cobbler had cut for her from leftover scraps into a primer. Eventually they found a printer in Edinburgh that sold them letter blocks and a steady frame to recreate a page of a book. It was all very time consuming for the Frasers but the moment it all sparked for her they wept, much to their child’s confusion. 

“As much as I wish tha’ I could feel poorly for ye, my well loved sister, I cannae bring myself to do it.” she whispered. “It mus’ bring you sae much joy to be able t’ hold a book in yer hand while I mus’ wait for Da or Mam to build mine from the ground up and back ways ‘round at that! Yer just a puir martyr, Brianna Fraser.” 

The younger sister looked around the yard to see who could hear. “Ye canae say such blasphemous things Faith!” Brianna gasped. She was thankful all the hungry animals noise had drowned out her sister’s words. “Why would ye wish me a martyr? Am I no’ good to ye? I try, I swear to ye!” 

Faith knew she had pushed too hard. She knew she was lucky to have a sibling to supported her, no questions asked. Well, maybe a few questions. They had their older brother Fergus to model the correct way to do things. He constantly reminded the girls that he had no family to speak of before their parents took him in, no questions asked, in a foreign country. The pair had loved him, fed him, disciplined him, protected him, and eventually made sure he got the best education possible. To honor his Maman he was studying to become a medical doctor to become a respected healer like her, to give back to the tenants of Lallybroch. He had made the younger children promise to look out for each other as well as the rest of the extended family in his stead. Of course they had, quite earnestly, together with quite a few tears as well. Da and Mam were proud of them for their commitment, not that they told them very often but they certainly demonstrated it through small tokens and looks. Speaking unkind things that would purposefully distress someone would be akin to breaking her word to her much loved brother, something her parents would disapprove of immensely. After all, he was the one who had taught her, amongst other things, how to be brave. To break that would make her lose face and dishonour clan Fraser, in their eyes. 

“Och! Bree, yer good to me!” Faith quickly affirmed. “I cannae bear to hear ye weep. My day ha’ been long enough an’ it’s jus’ begun!” 

“Aye, I ken that well,” acknowledged Brianna. “Yer tussle with Mam this daybreak scared Adso half out of his furry mind. Puir cheety was shakin’ under Young Ian’s bed las’ I saw.” 

“Chores need t’be done _mo piuthrag_. An’ I need to aid Mrs. Crook once completed.” Faith cautioned, steering things back to the task at hand. “And wha’ happened wi’ Mam, weel, Mam, and I are going to help me wi’ a problem when th’ work is done. Ye ken most all I think or say but it seems tha’ I’m forgettin’ colors an’ if they are lost I cannae say if I can get them back.” 

Brianna sighed, “I grant you, Mam is the one t’ know tha’ sort of logic. I'm no’ so good at tellin’, I can show ye though.” As she finished speaking she pulled her sister into a warm embrace. Action was her way of displaying her feelings and thoughts, words were difficult to quickly access in her youthful brain since there were so many languages running through it - English for Mam, French for Fergus, Gàidhlig for Da, Latin for Mass and Greek for Da’s beloved Classics. Silence was the better answer in this situation. 

_~~~~_

The girls were so focused on finishing their tasks so diligently and efficiently that the morning seemed to rush by in just a few moments - to say that they were weary would be a vast understatement. When they reached the front steps their bellies growled loudly after the aroma of something delicious in Mrs. Crook’s kitchen hit their noses. They squeezed each other's hand, a familiar signal to quicken the pace to their destination. As soon as they crossed the threshold they heard their Aunt Jenny’s voice echo from the kitchen as she called her children to midday meal.

“ _Nigh do làmhan, Kitty! Suidh aig a’ bhòrd, clann-nighean!” A Dhia! A bheil do mhionach a' rùchdail, patach_?” 

As usual Young Jamie was shoveling food into his mouth as he half wrestled with a book, this time a large tome on animal husbandry that Fergus had sent him, while Young Ian, the littlest, tugged at his mother’s apron sulking loudly about not eating yet. Maggie, Kitty and Janet chatted animatedly about the upcoming family dinner as they washed their hands. The topic, as per usual, was focused on what they would wear in addition to how they should adorn their hair. 

Meals were generally organized mayhem in the Fraser-Murray household and it drove Faith to distraction oftentimes. As much as she loved her extended family, she needed to use her hearing to navigate Lallybroch safely. She just had to focus all her energy on eating, then she could help Mrs. Crook, after that she could finally talk to Mam. 

Brianna gave look to her aunt as they came into view, Jenny nodded in confirmation. 

“All of ye need to cease yer ruckus,” she announced. “We need some peace while we eat, ye ken? And ye cannae just shovel it down yer throat Jamie! Can ye jest chew it a few times?” 

Faith and Brianna made their way to the table to join their cousins while Mrs. Crook distributed the food laden plates. Several voices from other parts of the house let them know that the remainder of the family would be there shortly. Their father’s deep voice boomed as he talked to their uncle about the latest letter from Fergus along with the news he imparted from Glasgow. Moments later their mother walked briskly into the kitchen from her surgery, issuing apologies as she sat at her place near the head of the table. 

Jamie stood up, crossed himself, then said grace as everyone bowed their heads. 

__**Some hae meat and canna eat,  
** and some wad eat that want it,  
but we hae meat and we can eat,  
and sae the Lord be thankit. 

As soon as he finished, everyone crossed themselves then began to eat. Faith waited a moment before she leaned over toward her sister, knowing that the conversation around would draw less attention to them. 

“I'm skeert, Bree!” she whispered. Her brain was working overtime imagining scenarios of how she would embarrass herself trying to complete her promised task. She could see the churn breaking as she tripped over the cat while the butter went flying. The thought of her dress catching on fire also sprang to mind.

“Wha’? Tha’s no’ possible!” Bree countered. “Yer no skeert o’ tha’ crofters dog an’ even Da cannae look at it withou’ jumpin’!”

“I’m skeert I'll make a mess of ev’rything an’ Mam will thin’ I'm alway’ jus’ a bairn!” Faith replied. “I’m dinnae wan’ t’ set Lallybroch ablaze wi’ my clumsiness!” 

The younger girl exhaled loudly. Before she had a chance to reassure her sibling their mother’s voice interrupted and her train of thought was derailed with an almost audible screech. 

“Bree and Faith,” she began. “I’m very pleased you’ve finished your chores so early in the day. I need some assistance putting up some canning in the root cellar if you’re in need of a new project to pass the time until supper.” 

“Yes, Mam!” They replied in unison. Mam usually doled out work, rarely asking for help so they both leapt at the chance. Keeping the larder well stocked for the winter was very important work, it made them proud to be asked. 

“Weel, ah, Mam?” Faith stuttered. “I cannae help ye direc’ly after midday meal but I will be there as quick as I can. An’ after tha’ we are going to chat, aye?” The last sentence came out small, scared, and a little squeaky. She cleared her throat then drank a sip of water to try to compose herself. 

Claire laughed, “It slipped my mind that you needed to assist in the kitchen first! Once you’ve completed that, your sister and I will be waiting for you.” 

Both Bree and Faith covered their mouths as they struggled to stifle a giggle. 

“Aye, Mam!” They chorused. 

  
While everyone else cleared the dining table, Faith fetched the milk can from the spring house to begin churning. She didn’t mind the repetitiveness of the butter making, the familiarity was quite soothing if she was honest. The whole experience held a very important memory for her as well. Lallybroch’s kitchen had acquired quite a few butter moulds over the years but her very favorite one was the stag bust. When she was little her mother had given the wooden slab to her as a diversion when she was fussing, but when she found the indentations she felt every nook and cranny to try to suss what it could be. It was a struggle so many years later to remember what things looked like but that carved stag was something that stood out in her mind. The whole experience of making it yet again made her happy, made her feel normal, just like any other girl who was perfecting a skill. 

Everyone in the kitchen set about completing the last few items that could be done ahead of time. Due to their quick skilled hands, the tasks were over quickly and the filled butter mould was returned to the spring house to set. Aunt Jenny thanked Faith as she gave her a hug. 

“Yer talent is improvin’ _gairghean_. Soon ye’ll be teachin’ me new ways to do things!” She laughed. 

“ _Piuthar-athar_ , tha’s no possible!” Faith gasped.“Betwixt Mrs. Crook, Mam, and yerself I think ye know all there is to know!” 

“Och! I only wish!” She retorted. “Away with you. Yer Mam and sister are needin’ help in the root cellar." 

“Aye piuthar-athar!” 

Faith quickly curtsied and bowed her head to her aunt before finding her way to where she could hear Brianna singing with great flourish. 

“Don’t sit under the apple tree with anybody else but me!” 

“Mam, is there a dying cheetie down there?” Faith snickered. “I ken th’ puir thing is suffering greatly.” 

Bree continued on undeterred as she handed her mother another crock of black butter to set next to the many jars of applesauce, black currant jam, pickles, and numerous other items for the lean months. 

Faith exhaled loudly as she stood at the bottom of the stair. She tapped her feet rhythmically as she waited for her mother to tell her where it was safe to walk. 

“Three small steps and then stop, love. We have a few more things to put on the shelf and we can have that talk.” she replied. “Can you hand me that string of garlic on your right, please?” 

“Mam d’ye thin’ they’ll be some left for th’ end of year celebrations? I ken we ha’ a bountiful crop this year,” Bree interjected. “Garlic mutton on Hogmanay is heavenly!” 

Faith sighed as she passed the carefully bound bulbs to her mother. “Wi’ Mam’s potatoes an’ **snèap** mash an’ walnut stuffing! Och! Mrs. Crook’s rhubarb pie! I need t’ ken how to make that.” 

“I do apologize for interrupting my young dreamers,” Claire began, “But we just need to get your Uncle Ian’s hard cider jugs into the back corner. After that, we will have that talk Faith.” 

Both girls screwed up their faces at the mention of their uncle’s latest endeavor. The last several attempts had yielded vinegar, immensely sour cider and something they swore had killed a patch of grass when it was unceremoniously dumped on that spot by their unimpressed aunt. 

“Yes!” she half-laughed as she continued. “Your uncle has yet to be successful, but he is guardedly optimistic about this batch.” 

“Da kens sae much abou’ wine from _Oncle_ Jared, I reckon he needs t’ try his own hand at cider!” Bree ventured. 

“I beg ye t’ not tell Da that!” Faith replied. “Then there’ll be a competition betwixt th’ two an’ we wi’ have to get an earful of their braggin’, ye ken?” 

All three cringed loudly, returning back to the placement of the cider. They worked quietly until their last task was finally completed. 

Claire hugged her youngest daughter, then promised to help her translate the French novel she was reading later that evening after the younger children were put to bed. 

“Now go!” she ordered. “Please tell your father that we’ll be back for supper. I don't want him to worry about me tiring myself.” 

Brianna quickly nodded, “Aye, Mam!” 

Faith grinned as her sister’s footsteps trailed off. “She thinks the bairn t’ be a boy, like Da.” she murmured. “I jus’ want it t’ be healthy, ye ken? I dinnae want ye t’ have another frail bairn t’ fuss with.” 

Claire immediately clasped her daughter’s hand. “Oh, love!” she gasped. “You’re the furthest thing from frail and such a young lady, even at eleven." 

“I cannae even remember _gorm_ , Mam!” Faith lamented. “An blue is a color tha’ is always above us. A wee bairn will tell ye what blue is but I cannae do it. I’m fearful I’ll nae be able to. How can I help _mo bràthair_ with nae sight?” 

“The same way you helped your Murray cousins - patiently, and with all the love you have to give.” 

“Mam -” she began. “No,” Claire interjected. “You have the bluest eyes I have ever seen. They are even more blue than your father’s. The stream you love to play in is blue. Your favorite fruit is even blue - blueberries. You know what blue is, despite not having seen it in a decade.” 

“I need ye to show me more blue, please, Mam.” Faith said as she tugged at her mother’s dress. “Then I need ye to teach me more colors.” 

“Help me up the stairs and we will continue this discussion as we walk. Agreed?” 

“Yes, Mam.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> piuthrag = little sister
> 
> “Nigh do làmhan, Kitty! Suidh aig a’ bhòrd, clann-nighean!” A Dhia! A bheil do mhionach a' rùchdail, patach?” = "Wash your hands, Kitty! Sit at the table girls/daughters! For Heaven's sake! Is your tummy rumbling?"
> 
> Some hae meat and canna eat,  
> and some wad eat that want it,  
> but we hae meat and we can eat,  
> and sae the Lord be thankit.
> 
> Some have food and cannot eat,  
> And some would eat but have no food,  
> But we have food and we can eat,  
> And so the Lord be thanked.
> 
> Piuthar-athar = aunt, specifically father's sister
> 
> snèap = turnips
> 
> gorm = blue

**Author's Note:**

> bhioba - bib  
> Stad - cease, desist, halt  
> snàgan - and infant who is not yet crawling  
> gorm - blue


End file.
